Damage Control
by lstuds
Summary: AU: Peter catches a fifteen-year-old Neal picking his pocket and ends up inviting the kid over for dinner. Somehow dinner turns into a lot more than either of them could have expected. Reposted from a couple years ago.
1. Chapter 1

Summary:_ AU_ Peter catches a fifteen-year-old Neal picking his pocket and ends up inviting the kid over for dinner. Somehow dinner turns into a lot more than either of them could have expected. _Reposted from a couple years ago._

_***AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi everyone! I've had a few people ask about this story. Unfortunately, I got a new computer and no longer have the file, so I figured I'd repost it here if anyone still wants to read it. No promises that it'll be exactly the same, but definitely let me know if there's anything that you remember that you really want to see in this version. Or, if this is your first time reading it, anything you'd like to see in general. I'd be happy to post any of my other stories if I still have them. Just let me know which ones you want! Sorry if anyone's been wondering what happened to all of my stuff! I needed some time to focus on school, and that's impossible when you have a bunch of stories you'd rather be working on! Thanks so much for those of you who are reading!****_

* * *

The blaring alarm clock that went off at 7 o'clock on the dot didn't pull Neal from his heavy sleep in the least. In fact, the daily alarm hadn't woken him up in months. He wasn't even sure why he bothered setting it in the first place anymore. The alarm was meant to wake him up for school, but he hadn't been to school since February, and it was nearly May. Most of the kids who had dropped out of school at his age were either too dumb or too lazy to continue their education. Neal was the exception. He was both brilliant and motivated. But dropping out was his only option to keep himself alive and off the streets.

How could he go to school when they had rent due at the end of every month, hardly any food in the pantry, and his dad sitting in a bar from dawn to dusk instead of working? Of course, he told Neal he was still going to the office every day, but Neal smelled the alcohol on him when he set foot into their apartment every night.

And so, his alarm blared on, past first period and second period, until finally Neal woke up a little after nine. It wasn't the alarm that pulled him abruptly from his sleep or the sirens blasting outside his window. It was the neighbor's door.

The sound of a door slamming. It was a sound that Neal had grown to hate over the years. Whenever his mom left, she didn't just sneak out in the middle of the night. She stormed out in a rage, screaming at his father and slamming the door so loudly the whole apartment would shake. She'd been gone for almost a year this time. When he had been younger, Neal used to hate when she was gone. She would leave every so often, only to come back a few months later acting as if nothing had happened. For another month or two, she'd be the world's greatest mother, and then she'd be gone again. Neal used to love those stretches of time when she was present and acting like a normal mother, but now he dreaded the day when she would come crawling back.

He couldn't be happy to see her anymore. Not when he knew she'd be gone by the end of the season. She had left too many times, slamming the door as she did so, leaving him hurt and his father angrier than usual.

This time, he hoped she didn't come back at all. He wouldn't say that he and his father were happy—in fact, they were far from it—but they coexisted. Neal did his best to cover their expenses, to buy food, pay rent, and chip away at their debt. And his father stayed out of his way. He would leave early and come home late. Sure he was at the bar, racking up debt, all day, but for the most part, Neal never saw him. Despite the couple of late night drunken fights he picked each month, the man didn't even live in the same apartment as far as Neal was concerned.

But the absence of his father meant he had to find his own way of making money. At first, he tried to hold jobs washing dishes in three different restaurants nineteen hours a day. But he was barely making rent and was never sleeping. Finally, he reluctantly made the decision to go with a more effective, although less legal way of obtaining money.

So that morning, he finally got out of bed, slipped into a pair of ripped, faded jeans, pulled an unwashed black t-shirt over his head, and headed out of the apartment, careful not to slam the door behind him.

The plaza was packed with people by the time Neal arrived an hour later. Hundreds of lawyers and consultants and executives hurried through the crowd with a coffee in one hand and their cellphones plastered to their ear in the other. Neal smirked as he allowed himself to slip into the crowd. It was too easy. Within minutes, he had picked two wallets off of completely unexpecting businessmen who most likely weren't even going to realize they'd been robbed until they returned to their offices later that morning.

The day continued smoothly. Picking wallets here and there, and then popping into a nearby diner for something to eat every now and then to get out of the scene and avoid any suspicion. It wasn't until what Neal had decided would be his last pick of the day that he got himself into trouble.

He spotted his target from across the plaza. The man was dressed in a brown, Brooks Brother's suit. He had money to spare, that much was obvious. The man was intently focused on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. Neal laughed to himself as he moved towards the distracted man. He passed by others who would have been perfectly acceptable, probably safer, victims of his sticky fingers, but his eyes were set on his decided target.

People like this irritated him to no end. He was radiating wealth, and yet he didn't even care enough to protect his own wallet. Neal was sure that if he ever had money like he knew this guy had, he wouldn't walk around with it hanging out of his pocket.

Finally, Neal reached his target. His fingers danced anxiously at his sides, and his eyes zeroed in on the man's pocket, where he could see the rectangular outline of his wallet. He dropped his head, hiding his eyes from the man's sight and allowed his shoulder to knock into the stranger's.

"Excuse me," he mumbled apologetically, attempting to mask the youth in his voice. The man looked up from his cell phone in confusion, but his eyes went nowhere near his pocket where Neal's fingers slid greedily inside and fell on thick leather. Neal clutched the wallet between his fingers and let his hand slide out of the silk pocket. He smiled victoriously for a naïve moment.

But then a strong hand grabbed his wrist. Neal let out a surprised gasp and whirled around. His target, whose wallet was still in Neal's restrained hand, was staring back at him with unwavering authority.

"You picked the wrong guy, kid."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I'll post more later depending on who's reading. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much to those of you who have reviewed and offered to send me this story as well as my others. You are all awesome! _

* * *

Neal stared back at the man in complete shock. He'd never been caught before. He'd never even thought about being caught before. He was too good. No one so much as flinched when he dug his hands into their pockets and looted their goods. At least, not until now.

Neal watched with wide eyes as the man ripped his wallet out of the boy's shaking hand and placed it back in his pocket, but he didn't release Neal from his grip. Instead, he dragged the kid closer to him. Neal swallowed nervously.

"Sir, I'm really sorry," he managed in a chocked voice. His head was spinning. This guy was going to call the cops. He was going to have him arrested. He was going to go to prison or juvie or wherever they sent fifteen-year-old dropouts who got caught pick pocketing.

"You're sorry?" the man questioned, and Neal was surprised to hear a hint of amusement in his voice. "For what?" Neal blinked back in confusion. "For trying to rob me or for getting caught?" With that, the stranger released his grip on Neal's wrist and folded his arms across his chest.

For a moment, Neal contemplated running, but the look on the man's face told him he would chase after him. Finally, he raised his eyes and offered the most apologetic look he could muster. "Both, I guess," he said with a shrug.

The man narrowed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head. "Come on," he said in a stern enough tone that stopped Neal from questioning him. To Neal's surprise, the stranger clasp a hand on his shoulder and directed him through the crowd of people until they made their way to a car parked at a meter outside the plaza.

"What…?" Neal started to question, but the man had dropped his hand from his shoulder and was now holding the passenger side door open. He waited expectantly while Neal looked back and forth from the open door to the crowd of people only a few yards away. He wanted nothing more than do disappear back into that crowd.

"Hop in," the stranger finally told him. Neal bit his lower lip. He was fairly certain his parents had never taught him anything about stranger danger, but he had seen enough episodes of Law and Order to know that you weren't supposed to get into cars with strange men.

"Look, like I said, I'm really sorry, but it's getting late, and my parents are going to be wondering where I am," Neal said innocently. The man didn't need to know that his father most likely wouldn't realize if he didn't turn up for days.

"Oh. Well, if you want, I can always just call them and tell them where you've been today," the man said with a shrug. Neal's face burned. As absent as his father was, Neal knew he would kick his ass if he ever found out his son had gotten caught picking pockets. If not for the act itself, then definitely for getting caught doing it. With a sigh, Neal slid into the passenger seat of the car. The door closed lightly behind him, and seconds later the man got in beside him. Neal could only hope that the man sitting next to him wasn't a deranged serial killer. Although, that seemed to be the direction this was headed.

It took Neal a few moments to realize that the stranger had started the car, but they had yet to drive away. Instead, the man's attention was intently focused on Neal. The kid stared quizzically back at him. He'd already gotten into a car with the complete stranger, what more did he want?

"You gonna put your seatbelt on?" the man asked, answering Neal's unspoken question. Immediately, Neal turned around, pulled down the contraption, and clicked it into place. At last, the car pulled away from the curb and they headed down the busy New York street.

The drive was silent. Which only made it easier for Neal to imagine all of the possibilities of the trouble he was about to find himself in. To his dismay, each scenario he came up with ended with either his death or his imprisonment. He couldn't say he was crazy about either of the two options, which soon led him to conjuring up as many methods of escape as possible.

Unfortunately for him, the car had picked up speed and was no longer stuck in bumper-to-bumper city traffic. Now, it sped quickly by parks and townhouses. The possibility of escaping from the moving car uninjured seemed more and more unlikely by the second. Whatever this guy had planned for him, Neal supposed he was just going to have to wait and see what it was.

"Here we are," the man finally announced as they pulled into the driveway of one of the houses. Neal looked up at the beautiful suburban home in surprise. This was hardly the abandoned warehouse or threatening police station he had been expecting.

"And where is _here _exactly?" he questioned slowly. The man laughed, turned the car off, and opened his own door.

"Just come inside," he said in amusement.

Neal sat in the passenger seat for a few moments, contemplating his two options: lock himself in the car and call the police or follow the stranger into his rather harmless looking home.

The man was waiting for him on the front walkway, and he motioned for Neal to get out of the car when the eyes met. Trying not to think too much about the definite threat to his own life, Neal decisively got out of the car and joined the man on the walkway.

The two made their way to the front door, which the man unlocked, and headed inside. A large yellow Labrador greeted them at once. He bypassed his owner and instead went to meet the unfamiliar teenage boy. Neal dropped down to one knee and received the dog with pets and scratches. The lab wagged his tail happily and looked to his owner as if to tell him he approved of his new friend.

"What's your name?" the man asked, and the dog trotted over to him at the sound of his master's voice.

"Neal," Neal said in a shakier voice than he intended. He stood up and did his best to look intimidating. The man hardly seemed phased.

"Neal what?"

"Neal Caffrey," Neal answered reluctantly.

"Have you ever hurt anyone, Neal?" the man asked. His voice sounded as serious as his expression looked. Neal blinked in surprised at the question. This stranger had dragged him into his car and driven him to god knows where, and he was asking Neal whether or not _he_ had ever hurt someone.

"No, sir," Neal answered slowly.

The man relaxed, and his serious expression turned to a genuine smile. "Good," he said with a nod. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Dinner?" Neal repeated in shock. That's what this was all about? The man wanted him over for dinner.

"Yeah. Dinner," the man answered matter-of-factly. "My wife always makes way too much, and you look like you could use something to eat."

"But why…" Neal started.

"Why didn't I call the cops?" the man finished for him. Neal nodded. It was a fair question, after all. The man smiled and reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a leather case and handed it to Neal. At first, Neal thought it was the man's wallet, but when he opened, it realized just how much of a mistake he had made by trying to pick pocket the man.

"Agent Peter Burke?" he read off the badge in his hands.

"The one and only," the agent said, taking the badge from Neal and putting it back in his pocket.

Neal shook his head, still struggling to understand exactly what was going on. "So what?" he asked. "You're going to have me for dinner and then arrest me?"

Burke laughed and shook his head. "No. I'm just going to have you over for dinner. Like I said, my wife always makes too much, and it definitely wouldn't kill you to eat some pasta."

"You're not going to arrest me?" Neal questioned slowly.

"I'm not going to arrest you."

"I really wish you would have told me that in the first place," Neal mumbled.

"Where's the fun in that?" Burke laughed. "The bathroom's upstairs. Why don't you go wash up? I'll let my wife know you'll be joining us."

"Thanks, Agent Burke," Neal said, still in shock by the whole situation. He had relaxed significantly at the sight of the man's badge. At least he knew he wasn't going to be murdered. Although, he still wasn't sure the man didn't have plans to arrest him.

"Please, call me Peter."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to everyone who's welcomed me back! You guys are the best!_

* * *

When Neal returned to the front hallway, Peter was just walking out of the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice the surprised look on the man's face.

"You're still here," Peter pointed out with a smile.

"Still here," Neal confirmed. He opened his mouth in an attempt to thank Peter once again for having him, but he couldn't find the right words. "Thank you" just didn't seem enough for ignoring an act punishable by law and inviting a stranger over for dinner. Luckily, Neal didn't have to struggle with his words for long.

"Dinner's ready!" a voice called from the kitchen. Neal looked up. A woman was just walking out of the kitchen. Her hands were both full as she made her way to the perfectly set dining room table. Neal swiftly rushed forward and grabbed one of the dishes from her hands. "Thanks. You must be Neal," she said with a smile. "I'm Elizabeth, Peter's wife."

"Thank you for doing all of this. I really appreciate it," Neal said, placing his dish on the table.

"It's nothing. Don't mention it," she gave him a friendly wink and then pulled out a chair for him to sit. She sat at the head, leaving a seat for Peter across from Neal. "Help yourself." Neal did just that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a meal like that. Everything looked perfect.

"So, Neal. Tell us about yourself," Elizabeth coaxed. She hadn't exactly been thrilled when her husband rushed into the kitchen, explaining that he had invited a stray kid home for dinner. But there was something about his charming smile that made her see why her husband had brought him home, and she suddenly wasn't so concerned about the whole thing.

"Well, um," Neal shifted nervously in his seat. He wouldn't feel right lying to the people who had so graciously invited him into their home, but this was usually about the time when people ran from him. Once he told them about everything. "I live with my dad. My mom's not really around."

Peter and Elizabeth exchange a glance before continuing. "You're in what, tenth grade? Do you have a favorite class?" Neal's eyes fell to his plate, and he dragged his fork through his food.

"I'm actually not in school," he said, trying not to sound as ashamed as he felt. They were going to think he was some dumb screw up. And Neal wasn't sure why, but he really didn't want them to see him like that. "Not anymore, at least," he continued. "We need the money."

"Your father's okay with that?" Elizabeth asked, and she couldn't mask her tone of annoyance.

"He doesn't exactly care," Neal shrugged. He certainly wasn't going to tell them that his father's debt was precisely the reason why he had needed to drop of school to work in the first place.

"So you aren't planning on going to college?" Neal practically laughed at Peter's question. He'd never even had the luxury of considering college.

"I don't have the grades or the money," he answered apathetically, but the thought crushed him. College seemed like the only possible way he'd ever escape a life like his father's, but that just wasn't going to happen. He would spend the rest of his life picking pockets and living in crowded, dirty apartment in the Bronx. The most he could hope for was to not end up in prison.

After that, Peter and Elizabeth stopped their interrogation and moved on to more enjoyable topics of conversation. Once they got him talking, the couple realized just how smart Neal was. For a kid who had dropped out of school, he sure knew a lot about just about everything.

Their conversation bounced swiftly from politics to classic novels to religion to their favorite television shows to the ethics of war. The kid was a walking encyclopedia. Whatever he had missed in school, he had picked up from one of the apparent hundreds of books he had read.

"Look, I'm not saying that Le Bernardin doesn't have the best food in the city," Neal started in a rather heated argument between him and Elizabeth on the best restaurants in New York. "All I'm saying is that it lacks soul. Now, Per Se on Columbus has the best scallops I've ever eaten and a whole lot more atmosphere than Le Bernadin."

"How have you eaten at these places? I've never even heard of them!" Peter questioned in amazement. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her husband's lack of culture.

"You'd be amazed how many restaurants will give you dinner on the house if you tell them you're a food critic," Neal answered with a playful smirk. Elizabeth laughed.

"I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that," Peter said, shaking his head.

"I never did write that review…" Neal wondered allowed, and Elizabeth laughed again. Even Peter chuckled at the kid's boldness.

"It's getting late, Neal. I should probably get you home," Peter announced, stretching his arms above his head and getting up from his chair.

"Oh, no. It's fine," Neal started, getting out of his chair as well. The thought of Peter seeing where he lived had suddenly made him drop his happy-go-lucky mood. "I can take the Subway."

"Don't be ridiculous," Peter said. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and went to the coffee table to retrieve his keys. "Come on. It's no problem."

Neal hesitated for a moment, but the idea of getting a ride home was too tempting to pass up. "Alright," he agreed with a nod. "Thank you so much for dinner, Elizabeth. It was really great." He wanted to say more to the woman who had welcomed him into his home without any question, but he couldn't think of anything significant enough.

"It was no trouble," Elizabeth waved it off. "You're welcome back any time, Neal."

Peter and Neal drove in complete silence except for Neal's occasional directions. There was too much they both wanted to say for either of them to even begin to know where to start. And when they did finally pull up in front of Neal's building, no more than a dozen words had been exchanged during the entire drive.

Peter looked up at the dark, dilapidated building and sighed, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Neal.

"You call me if you need anything," he insisted. Neal nodded. "And if I catch you again…"

"You won't," Neal promised quickly. Both of them knew that Neal didn't mean he was going to stop. He just wasn't going to let himself get caught. Peter didn't fight him on the subject. He couldn't help this kid, as much as he wanted to. The least he could do was turn the other cheek at his distasteful manner of obtaining money.

"Good," Peter said. He wanted to keep Neal from going inside as long as possible, but he was running out of excuses to keep him in the car any longer. A voice in the back of his head told him that if Elizabeth had been the one to drop him off, she wouldn't have let him get out of the car. But what else could he do? "Take care of yourself, kid."

"I will," Neal promised with a reassuring smile. "Thanks, Peter."

With that, he stepped out of the car and headed into his building, slipping Peter's business card carefully into his back pocket.

* * *

"I like him," Elizabeth informed her husband later that night while they were clearing the dishes from the table.

"As much as I disapprove of some of his habits, I like him too," Peter agreed. He had yet to tell Elizabeth exactly what kind of conditions he had left Neal in earlier that night. Even he hated leaving the kid there. He couldn't even imagine how concerned Elizabeth would be if she knew.

"He's just a kid, Peter," Elizabeth started, lost in her own thoughts. "And it doesn't sound like he's got the world's greatest role models in his life. He needs help."

"What else can we do?" Peter asked, abandoning the dishes and turning to face his wife. "We aren't the kid's parents. Even if we want to help him, legally there isn't much we can do for him."

"Dinner," Elizabeth answered decisively. "Once a week." Peter opened his mouth, but Elizabeth cut him off. "Peter, he needs something good in his life. Something constant."

"I'll talk to Neal."

And so it was decided. Peter went to inform Neal the following morning that Elizabeth was insisting on a weekly dinner with them. The agent had expected him to decline the offer, but he seemed more than happy about it. They agreed on their weekly gatherings, every Thursday at seven. The two parted ways. It was only Saturday, and Neal was already eagerly anticipating dinner at the Burke's that Thursday night.


	4. Chapter 4

Their weekly dinners had been going on for a few months. Neal had become a highly anticipated part of their week. Peter had to admit, the kid had grown on him. He knew there were things he didn't know about Neal. They rarely discussed any serious matters, but what he had heard had convinced him that any issues the boy had were not his own fault. In fact, he was a pretty good kid, despite his slightly criminal behavior.

He was smart. Smarter than most adults Peter knew. He had an incredibly charming confidence about him that, although it annoyed Peter to no end, was highly amusing. Elizabeth had become more attached to the boy with each dinner. Although she would never admit, Peter knew she slipped a twenty into Neal's pocket every Thursday night without him noticing. It comforted Peter to know that the boy would at least have something to help him get through the week.

Neal had never been as much as a second late to a dinner. He always arrived ten minutes early, in fact, carrying a desert of some sort and a charming smile. This Thursday night, however, there was no Neal, no desert, and no charming smile. Elizabeth was about ready to call in the cavalry at 7:01, but Peter calmed her down. He tried Neal's phone several times, but he couldn't shake the nervous feeling he got when it went straight to voicemail.

They had only known Neal for a few months, but Peter knew him well enough to know that this wasn't like him. He wouldn't make them worry like this. By the time eight o'clock rolled around, Peter was too anxious to sit around anymore. He told Elizabeth to stay home, in case Neal happened to show up late, and he headed out to the building he had dropped the kid off at so many times.

He got out of his car and, feeling thankful he had his gun and badge on him, went up to the front door. To his surprise, it was wide open. He checked the sign on the front wall, noted the Caffrey's apartment number, and climbed the crooked staircase.

The Caffrey's apartment wasn't locked either. Peter knocked a few times, but no one answered. He was imagining too many horrible scenes on the other side of the door to patiently wait, so he pushed the door open without thinking twice about it.

The apartment was worse than he had expected. It opened up into a small living room that was furnished with only a tattered couch and a dated television set. The kitchen had a small table in the middle of the floor with two mismatched chairs pulled up to it. The counters were cracked, as was the poorly tiled floor. The refrigerator was hanging open. From what Peter could tell, the only contents were a few beer bottles and some milk. There was a narrow hallway that led out of the living room. Cautiously, Peter took a step forward.

"Neal?" he called into the apartment. He could hear someone moving around in one of the rooms off of the hall. "Neal?" he repeated when he received no answer. He waited for a few moments and then was relieved to see the boy emerge from one of the doors.

His relief was short lived, however, as Peter soon noticed the distinct bruise covering Neal's right eye. "Peter?" Neal questioned, looking surprised and fearful. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Thursday," Peter said, trying to hide his anger and panic. "You were late, and Elizabeth and I…" he trailed off and shook his head. "What happened to you?"

Neal's hand flew to his eye, and he winced as his fingers touched the tender spot. "I forgot," he mumbled guiltily. "I'm sorry. I promise, I'll be there next week." He was just about ready to turn and retreat back down the hall, but Peter stopped him.

"Next week?" Peter questioned. "Nu-uh. Elizabeth made dinner. I'm starving. You're coming over tonight," he instructed. He just wanted to get Neal out of the apartment and into their living room. Elizabeth would know what to do.

Peter thought Neal was going to protest, but he just sighed and led the way out of the apartment.

They had been driving for nearly ten minutes before Peter brought it up.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked, nodding to Neal's banged up face.

"I fell," Neal lied.

Peter sighed loudly and gripped the steering wheel a little bit tighter in his hands. "You know, Neal. For such a smart kid, you sure are a terrible liar," he observed as they came to a stop at a red light.

"Peter…"

"Forget it," Peter sighed. "Just know that Elizabeth will be fussing over you all night with your face looking like that."

Neal smiled for the first time all night, and both of them finally relaxed.

As Peter had predicted, Elizabeth didn't stop interrogating Neal about his eye at dinner. Neal continued on with his lie, claiming that he had fallen down the stairs that morning and must have hit his head harder than he thought because he honestly had forgotten about dinner.

If Elizabeth thought he was lying, she certainly didn't let it show. She went on to lecture the kid on how he needed to be more careful and how he really should see a doctor through half of their dinner. Finally, once Elizabeth had dropped the issue, they continued on to have a normal dinner. They avoided personal questions as they usually did and simply relished in each other's company.

When dinner was finally over, Elizabeth volunteered to drive Neal home. She was going to fetch her keys, and Neal was finishing up a game of tug-of-war with Satchmo, when Peter interrupted.

"Neal, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked. Neal looked up at him, letting Satchmo's toy drop to the floor. The lab pounced on it victoriously, but Neal didn't pay any attention to him as he straightened himself and turned to Peter.

"Sure," he shrugged and followed Peter to the front hall. He knew what was coming. He had to make sure he didn't break. If Peter knew what was going on in his apartment, what his father had done, there was no way he would let him go back. He would end up in foster care, and no one wanted to deal with an abused teenager. They had too many issues for anyone to try to take on. Even the Burkes. He really hated lying to them, but what else was he supposed to do? "What's up?"

"I want you to tell me what really happened to your eye," Peter said once he was sure Elizabeth was out of earshot.

"I told you, I fell," Neal said, his eyes glued to the floor as he spoke.

"Hey. Look at me." Neal raised his eyes to meet Peter's. "Now, tell me what happened to your eye."

"Peter, it's fine," Neal shrugged. "I've got it under control."

"It doesn't look like it to me," Peter said, eyeing the shiner on his face. "Neal, I can help you. You just have to let me."

"I don't want you to help me," Neal snapped. His face immediately turned apologetic. "Peter, it's just too dangerous," he said with a softer voice. "I promise, you don't have to worry about me."

"I know you think it's dangerous for you to tell me, but I can protect you if I know what's going on."

"Peter, if he finds out you're helping me…" Neal started, but he quickly stopped. He was letting himself break. They couldn't know about this.

"Who?" Peter asked, trying not to go into his full-fledged special agent mode. "Your dad?"

"Yes," Neal said finally, his eyes fluttering to the floor.

"He hit you tonight?" Peter questioned. Now, they were getting somewhere. Neal winced. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when everything was going so well. If they found out how screwed up he was, they wouldn't want him coming over anymore.

"Come on, Neal. You can trust me." Both of them stared at each other for a moment.

They hadn't known each other for long at all. Neal was quickly on his way to becoming a criminal. Peter was an FBI agent. But somehow, they trusted each other. Peter had no problem allowing the kid into his house every week. Neal even occasionally slipped in a few stories at dinner that he knew Peter could easily arrest him for.

"He found your business card," Neal finally admitted, and immediately a wave of guilt rushed over Peter. This was his fault. "I told him what happened, and he said I wasn't allowed to see you guys anymore." It took every ounce of self-restraint Peter had not to leave right then and there and track down Neal's father. "Peter, I really have to get home," Neal said, his eyes desperately wandering around the front hall. "If he realizes I'm here…"

"You're not going home, Neal," Peter said, his voice shaking with anger. "You're staying here. At least for the night. We'll figure everything out in the morning."

"Peter, no. I can't impose like that," Neal protested. "You guys have already done more than enough. I can take care of myself."

Peter wasn't listening. "Go upstairs. You can have the guest bedroom," he instructed. "I'll go talk to Elizabeth. There's no way we're letting you go back there." Peter didn't give Neal the chance to argue. He brushed past him, still fuming with rage, and went to track down Elizabeth.

With a reluctant sigh, Neal headed upstairs.

* * *

Neal was woken up in the middle of the night by hushed voices. Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of his bed, running her fingers through his hair. He could hear Peter's voice coming from the doorway. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the Burke's conversation.

"Peter, if we call social services, they're going to want to put him into foster care," Elizabeth's voice said with a voice far from its usual steadiness. "He's a fifteen-year-old, abused teenager. People aren't exactly going to be lining up to take him in."

"I know," Peter sighed. "But we have to do something. There's no way we can let him go back there."

"I think you know that's not what I'm suggesting," Elizabeth said. Her hand trailed from Neal's hair to his back. She traced her fingers up and down his spine, trying to ignore the welts she could feel underneath his t-shirt.

"I know what you're suggesting, El," Peter said with a long sigh.

"And?" Elizabeth asked.

"And I'm thinking it's our only option," Peter said slowly. Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief. "If he goes for it, of course…" he trailed off. Elizabeth wasn't listening anymore. All of her attention was on the boy supposedly sleeping beside her. He had been through so much, things she and Peter didn't even know about, she was sure of that. But somehow he was still sitting at their dining room table every week with a grin on his face.

She wanted to fix everything for him. She needed to know that he would be okay. "El, we only know one side of him," Peter warned. "If we take him in, for real, we're going to see the other side of him. We both know the smiling and chitchat is all an act. Are you sure you're ready to deal with all of this? I think it may be worse than we thought."

"Yes," Elizabeth answered quickly. Knowing what had really happened to the teenager only made her want to help him more. "Peter, I love him. The thought of someone hurting him…" she trailed off, and Neal could hear her sniffling. Peter abandoned his post at the doorway and stood beside his wife. "I just wish we could protect him from all of this."

"Me too. We can talk to him about it in the morning," Peter said. Elizabeth dropped her hand from Neal's back. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Neal felt a hand ruffling his hair. Peter. He burrowed deeper into the bed and waited for them to leave before he snapped his eyes open. Were they talking about what he thought they were talking about? They couldn't seriously mean they wanted to take him in. He didn't even want to think it. If he got his hopes up, and then it turned out he had misunderstood, he didn't know what he would do. Trying hard to focus on everything but Peter and Elizabeth, Neal drifted back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again, all! _

* * *

"Good morning!" Elizabeth greeted with a smile when Neal stepped sleepily into the dining room the following morning. He was still dressed in his clothes from the night before. His eye looked even worse than the night before, but his smile was, as always, fixed in its usual place.

"Mornin'," he greeted. Peter looked up from his newspaper and smiled. Elizabeth had just stepped out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee, and she place them on the table.

"Want something to eat?" she asked Neal. Out of habit, he was about to decline, but the growling in his stomach convinced him otherwise.

"Yes, please," he said with a nod. Elizabeth gave his arm a squeeze as she passed him and headed back into the kitchen.

Neal took his usual seat across from Peter at the table and watched the man flip through the newspaper for a few moments. "Anything exciting going on in the world today?" he asked, helping himself to an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. Peter looked up at him. He blinked, thrown off for a moment. Why did this feel so natural?

"No. Nothing in particular," he finally said, putting the paper down, just as Elizabeth came back with a box of cereal, milk, and a bowl. She placed them in front of Neal and then took her seat beside her husband.

"Neal," Peter started with a sigh and a quick glance at his wife. "Elizabeth and I wanted to talk to you about something,"

Neal pretended to be uninterested as he poured the cereal and milk into his bowl. He couldn't get his hopes up unless he was one hundred percent sure that his assumptions were true.

"Okay. What about?" he asked.

"We were talking last night," Elizabeth began. "And we decided, there's no way we're letting you go back to your father's house." Peter nodded to emphasize his support. "I know you might not see it now, but we really are just looking out for your best interest. The last thing we want is to see you get hurt again."

"Exactly," Peter added. "You might hate me for this, but I'm going in to the office today, and I'm going to get a warrant for your father's arrest. I promise I'm only doing this to protect you." He stopped and glanced up at Neal, nervously awaiting the kid's response.

Neal hesitated for a moment. He drew his spoon in circles around his bowl of cereal for a few moments, placed his spoon down, and then raised his eyes to meet Peter's. "Thank you," he said calmly, surprising both Peter and Elizabeth. They had expected screaming and yelling from the teenager. Not appreciation. It was just further proof that Neal was wise far beyond his years.

Elizabeth smiled at him and reached forward to brush away a piece of the kid's dark brown hair that was coming dangerously close to his injured eye.

"What about me?" Neal asked, his voice wavering slightly. He knew what he had heard last night, but what if that wasn't the end of the conversation? What if they had gone back to their room and decided the whole thing was ridiculous? They would just hand him over to the state the next day. Or what if it had all just been a dream? He stared down at his bowl of now soggy cereal and continued to spin his spoon absentmindedly.

"Well, we need to talk to you about that," Peter answered slowly. His wife gave him a reassuring nod. "Neal, we want you to stay here." Neal opened his mouth to speak immediately, but Peter cut him off before he could say a word. "Now, I know you must feel like we're strangers to you. You've really only known us for…What? Three months? But we really do care about you, kid. I'm not sure we could stand to see you go anywhere else.

"It will probably take us a while to get custody, especially if your mom comes back into the picture, but I don't see any reason why they wouldn't let you stay here until we sorted everything out."

Neal's eyes shot up at once. "Custody?" he questioned. He hadn't expected that.

"Well, yeah," Peter said suddenly getting nervous. "We…Well, we were kind of hoping to adopt you…I mean, with your mother never around and your father…" he trailed off and sighed, trying to organize his thoughts. "We just feel like you need something a little more…stable in your life. You shouldn't have to worry about paying rent and getting food on the table every day. Or picking pockets," he added with a smirk.

"You want to adopt me?" Neal repeated.

This had to be some sort of joke. He had heard them last night, and yes, he knew they wanted him to stay with them, but adopt him? The thought had never even crossed his mind. He would be eighteen in three years, why would they even bother going through all the trouble?

"If that's okay with you, of course."

"You're serious?" Neal asked, looking from Peter to Elizabeth. Both of them nodded.

"I—I don't know what to say…" he trailed off. Everything was happening so fast.

Yesterday he was lying on his tattered couch with a bag of frozen carrots plastered to his bruised eye. Now, he had prospective parents. Real parents. Not the absent mother and abusive father he had been stuck with for the past fifteen years. "I mean… yes," he responded quickly, after seeing Elizabeth's faltering expression. "Of course."

There were a hundred questions whirling around in his mind. There was so much they still needed to talk about, to figure out, but they could worry about that later. Elizabeth couldn't help herself; she got up and pulled the boy into a hug. Surprised, but relieved, Neal smiled and hugged her back.

When they pulled away, Peter stood up and placed his newspaper on the table. He clasped a hand on Neal's shoulder. "I have to go to the office today and sort everything out. If we leave now, I can run you over to the apartment and you can get your stuff."

Neal nodded in agreement. That seemed to be the only thing he could do. He couldn't find words at the moment. He had yet to accept the fact that what was happening was reality.

* * *

They pulled up in front of the familiar building an hour later. Neal had lived there his whole life. But it wasn't until that moment, when he knew that he wouldn't be coming back, that he realized just how terrible it was. He had been trying to convince himself that it wasn't so bad, that things could be worse, for years, but now he knew that it was as bad as things could get.

They were just about to get out of the car and head inside the bleak building when Peter's phone rang.

"Agent Burke," Peter answered. "Hi Jones…You need me now?…I'm kind of in the middle of something…Everything's fine. It's just—uh—family stuff…Yeah. Okay…No, I understand."

Neal only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but he definitely didn't like the sound of it. He tried to look optimistic when Peter hung up and turned to him.

"Sorry, Neal. Looks like I'll have to bring you by after work. They need me at the office now. I'll just bring you back to the house…"

"I can go up by myself," Neal interrupted quickly. It sounded like whatever the office wanted was important. It would take Peter at least an hour to get to work if he had to drive all the way back home first. Besides, he had grown attached to the idea that this was going to be the last time he ever saw this building. "You go ahead. I'll get a cab back to your place."

Peter looked from Neal to the building and frowned. "I don't want you going in there without me. If your dad's up there…" he shuddered at the thought.

"I'll be fine. I've taken care of myself for fifteen years, Peter," Neal said confidently. "Besides, he's never home during the day. He's probably getting drunk somewhere as we speak."

"Neal…"

"Just go. Really. I'm fine."

Peter wanted to stay and argue, but Neal did have a point. He had survived in that house without him for fifteen years. Another couple of minutes wouldn't kill him.

Plus, he was going to be late for work as it was. Reluctantly, Peter sighed. "Alright. Just be careful. Call me if you need me," he insisted. "And go right home once you're packed."

"I will," Neal said quickly with a grin. He was hardly paying any attention anymore. Peter had said "home," and he had meant their home. _His _home, with the Burkes. He couldn't wipe the smile off of his face as he got out of the car and headed into the building.

There was a definite sense of finality when Neal entered the apartment. If everything worked out as planned (and he had enough confidence in Peter to know that it would), he would never set foot in the rundown building again.

He walked carefully across the floor, out of habit. He knew which floorboards squeaked. He had come home late and had to answer to his father one too many times not to. There was no need to be quiet when he stepped through the apartment this time, though. The apartment was empty.

He arrived at his bedroom door and immediately let out an overwhelmed sigh. It was a mess. This was going to take longer than he had thought. He grabbed an old duffle bag from his closet and began throwing clothes inside it. Packing was never one of his strong suits. He had only ever traveled a few times to visit family, but he somehow always ended up with everything he didn't need and nothing he did. This time it was easy though. He needed everything. He wasn't coming back.

Once his clothes were all packed into one bag, he jammed the zipper closed and reached for a box. Carefully, he looked through his entire collection of books and CDs, making sure he didn't miss any important ones. He set aside the ones he was leaving and put the keepers into the box.

He was so immersed in his work that the sound of the apartment door opening nearly gave him a heart attack.

His heart stopped, and his breathing picked up.

_It's just across the hall_, he tried to convince himself. There was no way his father had come home this early.

He wanted so badly for that to be true, but just a few moments later he heard the distinct sound of the refrigerator door opening, a bottle being uncapped, and then heavy, stumbling footsteps coming down the hall.

Neal froze.

* * *

_As always, I love hearing from you guys. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Hi, folks! Sorry for the delay. As I said before, I have the original story, but I'm still rewriting the whole thing. I'm just using the old one as a reference. I have this next week off, so hopefully I'll be able to get a few updates posted! Thanks for your patience and feedback!_

* * *

Neal held his breath for a moment, hoping that maybe he could go unnoticed. He weighed a stack of CDs in his hand, shaking his head at his stupidity. What had he been thinking? Peter had told him not to go in alone. He had known it was a bad idea, and yet he had done it anyway. All for some dumb CDs and books that could have easily waited another day.

"Someone there?" Neal heard his father call out from the hallway. His heart raced at the sound of the man's slurred speech. He was drunk. There was no question about that. "Neal?"

Neal could hear his father's footsteps coming closer as he made his way down the hall and towards his room. There was no way out of this one, and because of his own stupidity, Peter wasn't there to save his ass.

"Where the hell were you last night?"

Neal shot up and whirled around to see his father standing in his doorway. An empty beer bottle dangled from the man's fingertips.

"Out," Neal answered quickly, his eyes falling to the floor at once. He couldn't look his father in the eyes. Not if he expected to lie his way out of this.

His father remained standing in the doorway, but he looked at Neal with curious amusement. "Don't lie to me, Neal."

"I'm not lying," Neal said, struggling to steady his voice. "I was just out with some friends. Alex and Mozzie—"

He couldn't even finish the poorly fabricated lie. His father cut him off. "Did you see _them_?" he asked, his voice dripping with accusation.

"No, Dad. I swear…" Neal tried, but the fierce look in his father's eyes told him not to push it.

"You did. Didn't you? After I specifically told you not to. What am I going to do with you?" Neal's father took a few steps forward, and Neal found himself edging backwards until his back collided with his bedroom wall. His eyes widened in panic. He was cornered, trapped.

But his father had stopped. The man stood, just a few feet away from his son and, for the first time, took a good look at the room. His eyes scanned over everything: the boxes, the duffle bag, the mess of books and CDs. And a smile found its way onto the man's lips. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked, amusement evident in his tone.

"No," Neal answered. He had hoped to come across as confident and apathetic, but his eyes fell to the floor once again, and his voice cracked.

His father laughed and shook his head. "You're running away, aren't you?" he questioned.

"So what if I am?" Neal asked with a shrug. Boldly, he grabbed the duffle bag at his feet and threw it over his shoulder. "I'm tired, Dad. I'm tired of your bullshit. I'm tired of taking care of you. I'm tired of letting you treat me like I'm nothing." Neal's eyes bore into his father's for a silent moment. "I'm leaving."

With that, Neal stalked across the room, his face burning with anger. His eyes were on the ground as he breezed past his father, and just when he thought he'd escaped him, he felt the man's cold hands yanking his arm back.

"Like hell you are," the man's voice hissed. He dragged Neal back and forcefully shoved him back against the bedroom wall. Neal's duffle bag slid from his shoulder to the ground, and his eyes snapped up to meet his father's in shock and fear. "What was your plan, Neal? Did you think you could sneak out while I was at work and run away with your little criminal friends?"

"Work?" Neal snapped back at him. He dropped his fear in an instant and took a bold step towards his father as anger raged through him. "Do you think I'm an idiot? You haven't brought a paycheck home since April. You come home every day reeking of alcohol. You haven't been to work in four months, and while you've been spending what little money we do have on cheap liquor, I've been breaking the law so we can make rent."

Neal's father stared back at him in surprised amusement. He looked his son up and down and then shook his head. "You're going to go live with them, aren't you? That cop and his wife…"

Neal stepped back again, eyeing his father suspiciously.

"Did they offer to take you in?" the man laughed, watching Neal with pleasure as he squirmed. "Do you think you're finally going to get the family you always wanted?" Neal's eyes flew to the floor. It was as if his father were reading his thoughts because, really, that was exactly what he was thinking. "Well, here's the problem, Neal: They don't know you." His father smiled and took a dangerous stepped forward. Again, Neal found himself pinned up against the wall with his father standing between him and the door.

"And once they realize exactly what kind of person you are, a lying, dangerous criminal, they'll dump you right back here." The man took another step forward. Neal's breathing picked up, and his heart pounded in his chest, urging him to run. Only, there was no way out. His father was only inches away from him, trapping him in place.

Neal's hair stood on end as his father leaned forward, brought his lips to his ear, and breathed in a cold voice, "You aren't going anywhere."

Immediately, the man's strong hand found Neal's neck and clasped down on his son's windpipe. Neal struggled against the shocking force and clawed at his father's hand in terror. His stomach dropped as reality sank in.

His father had hit him before, but he had never attacked him in such a lethal way. From the suffocating grip the man had on his son's throat and the fierce look in his eyes, Neal was almost certain the man was intent to kill.

Neal pulled and scratched at his father's arm, desperately trying to free himself, but his struggling only seemed to egg his father on. After only a few short seconds, Neal could feel his consciousness clouding. He could no longer breathe, and his vision was blurring. He tried one more desperate shove at his father, and, to his surprise, the men released him with a soft chuckle.

Neal fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air. The threat of his father momentarily fled his mind while he struggled to regain his breath. Until, a sharp kick hit him square in the gut, knocking him off his knees and onto his side, clutching his stomach in an attempt to shield his core from another blow. His eyes rose to meet his father's. The man stood over him, staring down with a cold, blank expression.

"Dad…" Neal tried, but his thought was interrupted as his father delivered another sharp kick to his stomach, this time, knocking the wind out of Neal completely. The boy inhaled sharply and let his head fall to the floor, surrendering any attempt to fight his attacker off.

His father directed several more kicks to his stomach, and Neal simply lay there, protecting his head with his arms.

It seemed to last forever, one painful kick after another, but in time, the blows became less frequent, and then they stopped altogether. Every inch of Neal's body ached, and he wanted anything to escape from the horrors of the apartment, but he could feel his father still standing over him. He didn't dare move until he was certain the man had left.

The worst of it was over, or so he thought. All he had to do was wait. Just a few more minutes, and then he could leave. Forever.

But then he heard it. The distinct clink that was so familiar to him. In seconds, his father's belt came down on his back in a swift crack. Neal couldn't help the pained yell that escaped his lips.

The kicks his father had delivered to his chest were nothing in comparison to this. Each time his father brought his belt down on him it tore into his flesh with an unimaginable bite. And this time, it didn't stop. One lash after another, each landing with a loud snap.

Neal writhed on the floor, desperately trying to escape but not having strength enough to stand let alone run. The pain was so terrible he could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness. Every time he thought he was going to pass out, his father would deliver another whip to his back, and he would come to, all too aware of the immense pain.

The skin on Neal's back felt as if had been ripped open completely, and yet the flesh refused to numb. Each lash fell more painful than the last.

The thought of his own haste and stupidity didn't even cross his mind as he lay on his bedroom floor. All he could think about was the pain and the frightening thought that it seemed death was staring him in the face.

When his father stopped suddenly, a sharp shock of the momentary lack of escalating pain struck Neal. But then, his father tossed his belt to the ground, nudged Neal onto his side with his food, and kicked him onto his burning back. Neal screamed. The pain brought a ringing to his ears and a queasiness to his stomach.

His father didn't seem phased by his discomfort, however, as he brought his foot to Neal's chest and pressed his weight onto the boy's pained body. He smirked, staring down at the look of complete exhaustion and agony on his son's face.

"What do we think?" he questioned. "Have we learned our lesson?"

Neal swallowed hard and shifted, trying to escape from his father's foot, pinning him to the floor. He was unsuccessful and only caused more pain to his injured skin.

"Dad, please…" he tried in a nearly inaudible whisper.

His father chuckled and shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud crash in the living room cut him off. Both of their eyes flew to the door.

"Mr. Caffrey!" a voice called from the hallway. "We have a warrant for your arrest." Neal closed his eyes in pure relief. He knew that voice. _Peter._ It was over.

"What the hell have you done?" his father asked in disbelief. Neal didn't dare respond, and when his father didn't receive an answer, he delivered one last kick to his son's head and fled the room.

Neal groaned and dropped his head to the floor, letting his throbbing lobe rest against the cool wood. His eyes drooped closed for just a moment, but a voice pulled him back only seconds later.

"I need an ambulance!" Peter's panicked voice called from the doorway to Neal's room. The boy's eyes fluttered opened. Only a few feet away, he could see a pair of brown leather loafers standing in his doorway. The shoes crossed the room in an instant, and then finally Peter knelt down into Neal's line of sight.

"Neal?" Peter questioned in a soft voice. Neal blinked back at him, knowing that talking would only intensify the pain. He just wanted to be numb. He couldn't bear the pain anymore. "Hey, Neal. Everything's going to be okay. I need you to talk to me, buddy."

"Peter," Neal whimpered, writhing in the immediate pain it caused him. "It hurts."

"I know," Peter breathed, his voice trembling. He brought his hand lightly to Neal's forehead, careful not to injury the boy further. "I know, kiddo. Just hang in there. I'm right here."

"Just make it stop," Neal pleaded. Never had his voice sounded so foreign to him. It was weak and desperate, two qualities he had always prided himself on not being.

"I will, Neal," Peter comforted. "I promise. Help's on the way." He sighed and traced his finger along the gash across Neal's temple. "I'm so sorry, kid."

* * *

_Yikes. Well, off to write something more uplifting and far less dramatic!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for your patience and all of the incredibly positive feedback…You are all awesome!_

* * *

The hospital room was painfully still. A slice of streetlight poked through the pale blue curtain, and a few scattered car horns sounded from the street below. A cool breeze flowed through the open window, stirring the wilting plant on the sill. The delicate leaves blew off and toppled to the floor below.

Peter watched them from the waiting room chair he had commandeered in order to spend the night in Neal's room. The boy slept in the hospital bed before him, but Peter couldn't bring himself to look at him anymore. Even in the darkness of the hospital room, he could clearly see the damage that had been done. The damage that he had caused.

Neal's black eye from only two nights earlier had started to fade, but it had been replaced with a fresh bruise on the left side of his face, covering his check bone and eye. His lip was sliced and had started to scab over. Twelve stitches stretched across the gash on Neal's forehead. Fresh bandages poked out from the kid's too-big hospital gown, protecting the handful of broken ribs he had collected from the attack.

And yet the visible injuries were only the tip of the iceberg. Maybe that was why Peter couldn't look at the boy anymore. He knew that, as awful as Neal looked, he was in far more pain than he could see. Peter had seen his torn apart back. He had heard the boy crying out with every bump and sharp turn during the ride to the hospital. He had watched desperately as the boy gave into the pain and finally passed out just as they had arrived at the hospital. He had heard the doctor explain the kid's concussion and internal bleeding. He had sat, panicked, through the seemingly endless surgery.

He knew how bad it was. He knew that he had caused it. And he knew that when the boy finally woke up, he would have to deal with the immense guilt he had been feeling ever since he had found Neal on the apartment floor.

At Peter's side, Elizabeth let out a soft sigh, only magnifying Peter's guilt. He hadn't only done this to Neal. Elizabeth had been a wreck when he told her. It had been one of the worst phone calls he had made in his life. She had arrived during Neal's surgery, and Peter had to explain everything that had happened, and how it had all been his fault. The look on Elizabeth's face had been almost as painful to see as Neal's beaten body.

Peter rubbed his eyes and rocked forward in his chair, trying to get both of the images out of his head. He nearly jumped when a soft hand fell on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He craned his neck around to see Elizabeth looking back at him.

"Can't sleep either?" she asked him in a quiet voice. Her eyes lingered on Neal's sleeping figure for a moment before returning to her husband.

"No," Peter answered, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms against his chest with a sigh.

"Peter…" Elizabeth started. She had repeated to her husband over and over again that this hadn't been his fault, but the look of shame in his eyes told her that he didn't agree.

"He almost died, El," Peter said in a broken voice.

"But he didn't."

"But he could have," he didn't want to hear her optimism now. There was nothing to be optimistic about. "You didn't see him. Not when it happened. He was broken. I just can't believe his own father could do something like that to him. To his own kid."

"His father, Peter," Elizabeth echoed. "Jacob Caffrey did this. Not you. It wasn't your fault. How could you ever imagine that a man could do this to his own son?"

Peter was silent for a moment, pondering his wife's words. "I want to kill him, El," he finally said, bitterly. "The guy's lucky I was preoccupied with Neal when they brought him in. I swear, if I had been the one to take him down, I would've killed him." Elizabeth didn't say anything as she studied the mixture of fury and pain on her husband's face. "Fifteen years," Peter said. "Neal lived with him for fifteen years."

"He doesn't have to anymore," Elizabeth inched forward to the edge of her chair and pulled her arms around her distraught husband. "Peter, once the doctors clear him, we can take him home. He's safe now." Peter nodded slowly, but Elizabeth could see that the crease in his brow hadn't disappeared. She sighed. "He isn't going to blame you for this."

"How do you know that?" Peter asked. The concern in his eyes nearly brought Elizabeth to tears.

"Because he adores you," Elizabeth promised, running her hand through her husband's hair. "And he's smart enough to know that you never would have let him go into that apartment if you thought something like this was going to happen."

Peter bowed his head and studied the reflection of a glowing streetlight on the tiles at his feet. "I want him to trust me. I want him to know that I can protect him," he sighed and finally allowed himself to look at the boy. "I don't want him to think I'm just like his father."

* * *

When Peter woke up the following morning, his whole body ached. He was twisted into an unsuitable sleeping position in the plastic chair. He slowly got to his feet and stretched his back.

Elizabeth's chair was empty. A note sat in her place, informing Peter that she had gone to grab coffee. Neal was still lying in the hospital bed quietly, and it took Peter a few moments to realize that he was awake, his eyes staring absently out the window.

"You're awake," Peter pointed out as he crossed the room and went to Neal's side.

The boy startled at the man's sudden words, clearly unaware that he wasn't the only one awake. "Yeah," he said in a raspy voice. He turned to face Peter. The injuries on his face were even worse in the fresh light of the morning.

"How're you feeling?" Peter asked as he sank slowly down on the edge of Neal's bed, careful not to cause further pain to the injured boy.

"Like shit," Neal grumbled, wincing as he shifted into a more comfortable position. "What's the damage?"

Peter sighed, reaching a hand out to carefully brush at the boy's hair. "Three broken ribs, a pretty nasty concussion, and some internal bleeding…" Neal's eyes widened. "It's fine. They got you into surgery as soon as you came in and fixed you up."

"I had surgery?" Neal questioned. Peter nodded, a fresh wave of guilt hit him at full force.

"Neal, I am so sorry," he started, eyes wandering over every cut and bruise on the kid's body. "This was all my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous," Neal said with a humorless laugh. "Last time I checked, Peter, you weren't the one who landed me in this hospital bed."

Peter swallowed hard and grabbed Neal's hand, seemingly the only inch of his body that remained unharmed. "But…"

"But nothing," Neal said, leaning back with a grimace. "This wasn't your fault." Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Neal cut him off. "Yeah. Maybe you shouldn't have let me go up there. And maybe I shouldn't have convinced you to let me go. But you aren't the reason why I'm in this hospital bed. My father is."

Peter gave Neal's hand a reassuring squeeze, and they both fell silent for several moments.

"What's going to happen to him?" Neal finally asked in a quiet voice.

Peter exhaled loudly. "Right now, he's being held without bail at a facility just outside of the city. There'll be a trial in the next few weeks. And then, hopefully, he'll be put away for a long time."

Neal nodded, unsure of how he was supposed to react to this sort of information. It was a relief to know that his father wasn't going to hurt him again, but he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about the fact that the man would most likely be locked up for quite some time. He was still his father, after all.

"Am I going to have to testify?" he asked quietly. Peter could see the fear in his eyes at the thought of having to relive everything that he had just been through. Wasn't once enough?

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Peter explained. "They'll have my testimony along with the rest of my team's and the medical records from the attack…"

"But…?" Neal questioned, knowing that wasn't all of it.

"But even still, the only way to ensure that a jury sees Jacob for what he really is if we get you on the stand." Neal closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his pillow. "I know the last thing you want to do is have to relive what's happened, but—"

"I'll do it," Neal cut in before Peter could finish his thought.

"Neal, are you sure about this?" Peter questioned cautiously.

"Yes," Neal said decisively. He tried to give Peter the most confident smile he could muster, but it was hard to appear so sure of himself when he was already regretting his words.

It was easy enough to think about testifying against the monster who had attacked him. But it wasn't so easy to think about being the cause for his own father's imprisonment. He couldn't show Peter his doubt, though. There was no way he would understand that, despite everything his father had put him through, he still loved him.

* * *

_Thanks again for reading!_


	8. Chapter 8

Neal was cleared to go home only a few days later. The doctors had held him for the remainder of the weekend, carefully monitoring his vitals. Peter had sat by his side the whole time, refusing to leave for more than a few minutes at a time. Elizabeth had volunteered to drive to Neal's old apartment on the second day, while Neal was sleeping off the effects of some fairly powerful painkillers. She had collected Neal's half-packed belongings and brought them home, where she set everything up in the guest bedroom.

The doctors warned that Neal would be sore for quite some time. His scars would never fully heal, especially the nasty marks on his back, but they would fade in time. Elizabeth listened intently as the doctors explained Neal's medication, future appointments, and suggested pain alleviations. She knew the other two weren't listening. Neal was still loaded with painkillers, and Peter hadn't slept in days.

It was more than a relief when she finally pulled the car up in front of the house. Neal was in the back seat, either sleeping or remaining uncharacteristically quiet. He hadn't complained at all as they helped him into the car, but Elizabeth had seen the pain in his eyes as he slid into the back seat. Peter was scrolling through his phone, checking to see what he was missing at work for the first time in three days. Elizabeth was the first one out of the car. Peter followed.

He went to Neal's door, slid his arm around the kid's waist, and helped him to his feet. Elizabeth led the way up the front walkway and onto the porch where she unlocked the door and let them inside. An excited Satchmo greeted them at the door.

Neal's drugs still hadn't worn off, and Elizabeth and Peter could both see the exhaustion in his eyes, but he managed a smile for the excited Labrador.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted as the dog cautiously approached him. He slipped out of Peter's grip and knelt to the floor, wincing as he did so. "It's okay," he promised, holding his hand out to the dog. "I'm alright." With that, Satchmo swished his tail happily and trotted over to the boy, whimpering as he licked his fingers.

"Sorry, Satch," Peter apologized, reaching down to scratch the dogs ears. "Guess you've been a little neglected these past few days." The dog looked up at him, letting his tongue fall out of his mouth in a happy pant.

"Neal, why don't you go lie down on the couch while I get dinner ready?" Elizabeth offered, letting her hand fall mindlessly to his head. Neal nodded and slowly got to his feet.

"Need some help?" Peter offered, taking Neal by the elbow.

"Actually, I think I've got it," Neal said, taking a successful step towards the couch. Peter watched nervously as the boy crossed the living room and finally eased himself onto the couch. His eyes met Elizabeth's for a brief moment, and he knew what she was thinking. It was exactly the same thing he was thinking: Neal didn't know how to accept help from people. They had certainly learned that over the few months they had known him.

The only way Elizabeth ever managed to give him any kind of money was by slipping it in his pocket, so he wouldn't notice until he got home. There was always a long argument over whether Neal would take the subway or get a ride back to his apartment at the end of each night. It had taken months for Peter to finally get anywhere in trying to help Neal out with his father.

The kid had spent his entire life taking care of himself. To suddenly have other people there to help him out was, no doubt, overwhelming.

Peter sighed and watched as the kid made himself comfortable on the couch. Satchmo curled up on the floor below him, keeping a careful eye on him. Elizabeth headed into the kitchen to get a start on dinner, leaving Peter alone in the front hallway. He watched Neal for a few more silent moments before going to the hall closet and pulling out a quilt from the top shelf.

Neal's eyes were already drooping closed from the effects of his drugs by the time Peter brought the quilt into the living room and draped it over him. The kid pulled the cover towards him and let his eyelids fall completely.

"Thanks, Peter," he mumbled softly before slipping into unconsciousness.

* * *

Peter spent the rest of the afternoon working at the dining room table. His boss had been understanding about his missed work, but that didn't mean the felons he was chasing had taken a couple days off. Unfortunately, they were still out forging paintings and robbing banks while Peter was stuck in the hospital. Now, he faced a dauntingly high pile of case files.

It was mindless, dull work, but he managed to get through a large portion of it. Paperwork seemed much more manageable with the sounds and smells of Elizabeth's cooking just on the other side of the door and Neal safely within his sight.

Peter was just finishing up his last file when he heard Satchmo's soft whimper coming from the living room. Immediately, he looked up from his paper work to see the dog standing at Neal's side, watching the boy worriedly and crying. The dog's eyes met Peter's for a moment before his attention returned again to Neal.

Even from the dining room table, Peter could see the pain and concern etched on Neal's face. The boy's eyes were closed, but he looked as if he were in the middle of one hell of a nightmare.

"Neal?" Peter questioned as he got out of his chair. Neal flinched at the sound and shifted in his sleep. He winced as his back scraped against the back of the couch, but he didn't wake up.

"No," he muttered quietly. His voice was shaking, and his brow furrowed even further. "Please…"

"Neal," Peter urged, louder this time. He cautiously stepped forward towards the couch.

"Dad, no," Neal went on, the desperation and fear in his voice growing tremendously. A heavy sweat began to form on his hairline, and he thrashed out at an invisible force. "Stop. Please."

Peter couldn't stand it anymore. He crossed the room, pushed Satchmo aside, and knelt down in front of Neal.

"Please, don't," Neal pleaded in his sleep.

Peter brought a soft hand to Neal's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. "Neal, wake up," he coaxed.

Immediately, Neal's eyes shot open. He jerked away from the touch at once and pushed himself as far away from Peter as he could. His eyes searched the room, wide and panicked.

"Hey, easy," Peter said calmly, holding his hands up in surrender. "It's okay. It's just me," he informed Neal, as the boy began to take account of the situation and relax his frantic breathing.

"Peter," he panted in relief. "I thought…"

"It was just a dream," Peter comforted, bringing a hand to the kid's shaking shoulder. "You're okay."

Neal nodded and sank back against the couch cushions.

"How're you feeling?" Peter asked.

Neal grimaced. "My back hurts like hell," he informed him, testing the raw skin against the cushions in an attempt to get comfortable. "My head feels like it's about to explode."

"You can take another pain killer in a couple hours," Peter said, feeling completely and utterly helpless. He was supposed to stop the kid's pain. That was what Neal trusted him to do, wasn't it? "Can I get you anything? Dinner should be ready soon…"

Neal managed a weak laugh. "I'm fine, Peter," he assured. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Well, I'm going to go ahead and do that anyway," Peter said despite Neal's eye roll. He was fairly certain he would never stop worrying about Neal. Especially not after seeing him nearing death on his bedroom floor. That was an image he was sure he would never forget. "Try to go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when dinner's ready."

Peter could see the hesitation in Neal's eyes. He didn't want to go back sleep. He didn't want to have to face the images that had haunted him the last time he'd shut his eyes. "Okay," he agreed quietly, but Peter was sure it was only to make him happy.

Peter gave the kid's shoulder a squeeze before standing back up. "It's good to have you home, kid," he said seriously. Neal nodded and smiled.

"It's good to be home."


	9. Chapter 9

Peter and Elizabeth joined Neal in the living room for dinner. Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the floor, Satchmo laying beside her. Peter watched Neal from the armchair in the corner. Although the kid swore he wasn't hungry, Elizabeth forced a plate of food in front of him. He picked at the chicken and moved the vegetables around on his plate but left it, for the most part, untouched. Elizabeth watched displeased from her spot on the floor.

"You have to eat something," she commented, picking a piece of broccoli off of her plate and feeding it to a begging Satchmo. Neal sighed and placed his own plate on the coffee table.

"I'm not hungry," he said, leaning back on the couch. He closed his eyes briefly and groaned.

"You feeling okay?" Peter asked, exchanging a nervous look with Elizabeth and placing his food to the side.

Neal nodded slowly, but the move made him grimace in pain. "Yeah," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll live."

"That's not what I asked…" Peter pointed out, worry etched in his brow.

"I'm fine," Neal assured, managing a small smile. "You worry too much."

Peter sighed and picked his plate up again. "I wouldn't worry so much if—" he started, but he was cut off by a loud knock at the door.

Immediately, Neal's eyes widened, his attention fixed on the door. Peter was the first on his feet.

"It's okay," he insisted as he walked by Neal. "It's just someone from social services. She just wanted to talk to Elizabeth and me and take a look at the house." Neal relaxed, but his eyes remained focused on the front door.

Peter opened the door with a smile on his face, but it soon faded.

"Mr. Burke, could I have a word with you outside please?" Neal and Elizabeth heard a woman's voice ask softly from the front step.

"Umm…" Peter seemed flustered. "Of course."

Before another word was exchanged, Peter stepped onto the front step and closed the door behind him. Neal turned to Elizabeth.

"What was that about?" Neal questioned, worriedly. Elizabeth stood up and placed her plate on the coffee table, out of Satchmo's reach.

"I'm going to go find out," she explained as she headed to the front door. "You, eat," she ordered before following Peter outside.

* * *

The pair returned several minutes later, anger and worry evident in both of their expressions.

"Absolutely not," Peter was saying to Elizabeth as they stepped into the living room.

"Peter, you heard what she said, we don't have much of a choice…"

"What was that about?" Neal questioned. "Was that the woman from social services?"

Peter sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "Yeah, it was," he confirmed. Elizabeth sat down on the coffee table beside Neal.

"What's going on?" the kid questioned.

"Neal, with your dad out of the picture," Elizabeth started slowly. "We were told that the adoption process would be as easy as signing some paperwork and passing a few home inspections." She turned her attention back to Peter for a moment.

"But…?" Neal coaxed.

"But, apparently, your mother has come forward," Peter explained, unable to mask the frustration in his voice. "She heard about the accident and wants to take you back." He sighed and shook his head. "She's ready to fight us for custody."

"What?" Neal questioned, fear suddenly coursing through him. If his mother was back, that meant the Burkes didn't need to adopt him or take him in at all. They could hand him back to his mother and never have to worry about him again. And he would be forced to move back to his old neighborhood and suffer his mother's incompetence.

"Neal, look at me," Peter said, knowing the boy's mind was wandering. "This changes nothing. If this thing goes to court, we'll fight her, and we'll win." He dropped his eyes for a moment. "If that's still what you want…"

Neal's eyes widened. Of course it was what he wanted. As long as the Burkes wanted it too. "Yes, that's still what I want. But I don't want to put you through a custody battle…"

"You aren't putting us through this, Neal," Elizabeth said, brushing his hair from his face. "All we want is to have you safe, here with us. We're going to do whatever we need to in order to make that happen. Got it?"

Slowly, Neal nodded. But his eyes picked up Peter's frustrated frown, and his face fell. "There's more. Isn't there?" he asked, nervously.

Peter nodded. "She wants to see you," he said, trying to keep his anger in check. "That's what the woman from social services wanted to talk to us about. Your mother wants to see you."

"So what?" Neal asked with a shrug. "The court granted you temporary custody when Jacob was arrested. You can tell her she's not allowed to see me, right?"

"We can," Elizabeth said slowly. "But that's not going to look good on our part."

"What's a judge going to think when he finds out we denied your mother the chance to see her son after an accident that nearly killed him?" Peter asked.

Neal groaned. "If you don't want to see her," Elizabeth continued. "We can tell her to stay away. Just say the word."

"But it's going to hurt your chances of getting custody…" Neal finished.

"Yeah, kid," Peter admitted with a sigh.

Neal shook his head. "I'm fifteen years old," he said. "Don't I get a say in this. Who's a judge to decide what's best for me?"

"We're going to win, Neal," Elizabeth assured. "But, in the mean time, it's probably best to do everything we can to make sure your mother doesn't have anything to use against us once the trial roles around."

"Then, fine," Neal agreed. "I'll see her."

"You're sure?" Peter questioned. "Because if you're not, we're willing to take the risk."

"I'm sure," Neal said and managed a smile.

How could any judge even entertain the idea that his mother was better suited for parenthood than Peter and Elizabeth? Just the fact that they were giving him a choice in all of this showed how much better off he was with them. She had never given him a choice when she left him alone with Jacob. She had never given him the option to leave with her rather than staying with his father. She had never asked him if it was okay that she returned after months of absence and tried to step in as mother of the year. With the Burkes, he felt like he was an appreciated member of the family, not a liability.


	10. Chapter 10

_I so appreciate all of your feedback, guys! This is a long one, and summer's fast approaching, so expect more quick updates once May rolls around. In the mean time, keep up your patience and support. I really appreciate it. _

* * *

Neal woke up the following morning feeling better. Maybe it was because his body had finally started healing. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that he was waking up in his own room. It was no longer Peter and Elizabeth's guest bedroom. It was his. His own room. His own bed. He sighed as he lay in the silence.

Elizabeth had filled the empty shelves and drawers with his books and CDs. She'd tucked a couple of chairs and a table in the corner. His laptop now rested on the desk by the window, and Neal severely hoped Peter never asked him how he had acquired the computer.

When the smell of Elizabeth's cooking began to wander into the room, even the comfort of his own bed couldn't keep him from the kitchen any longer. Carefully, Neal struggled out of bed, working around his broken ribs and still sore stitches. His head still ached, but it was nothing a few Advil couldn't fix. He threw the drugs back with a swig of water before pulling a t-shirt over his head and slowly heading downstairs.

Elizabeth was in the kitchen when Neal poked his head through the door. She topped off a stack of pancakes with the last of her batch and turned to face him.

"Looks like someone's feeling better," she said with a smile, but Neal could see the strain in her eyes. She was anxious, no doubt from their fast approaching meeting with his mother, and Neal couldn't blame her. He was too.

"Yeah," he said with a reassuring nod. "Much better. Need any help?" He crossed the kitchen and grabbed a stack of plates from the cabinet before Elizabeth could protest.

"Be careful," Elizabeth warned, noting the boy's slight wince as he lifted the stack. He rolled his eyes at her unnecessary worry before carrying the stack to the dining room table. Elizabeth followed with the plate of pancakes in one hand and a pitcher of orange juice in the other.

"Just four, right?" Neal questioned as he began to set the table. "No more surprises?"

Elizabeth laughed and went to the kitchen to fetch silverware. "Just four," she called back.

Just as Neal set the last plate, the back door opened and Satchmo pushed his way inside, dragging Peter behind him by his leash. The dog immediately rushed to greet Neal, leaving Peter out of breath at the door.

"Feeling better?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded his confirmation as he bent down to unclip Satchmo's leash and pat the dog's head. "Yep. Although, I'll feel a lot better once this meeting's over."

"Me too," Peter agreed. He turned his attention to his wife who was still digging through the silverware drawer. "What do you need, El?" he asked as he picked a piece of pineapple out of the bowl fruit salad on the counter. His wife's hand slapped his hand away as soon as he went for a second piece.

"Go wash your hands, and then come help Neal and me set the table," she said with a sigh.

Neal shook his head disapprovingly. "Yeah, Peter," he piped in. "Wash your hands."

Elizabeth laughed as she joined Neal at the table again and continued her setting. Peter shot the boy an angry look before turning to the sink. "If this is how it's going to be from now on, with the two of you ganging up on me, I'm sending you back," he joked.

"20 seconds, soap and water," Neal called back.

By the time Peter joined Neal and Elizabeth at the table, they had finished setting the table. It looked perfect. Neal couldn't help but wonder about the amount of effort Elizabeth was putting forth in order to impress his mother, and he figured it was best not to ask.

"Why don't the two of you go get changed?" Elizabeth suggested, noting Neal's sweatpants and t-shirt and Peter's stained jeans and baseball jersey. Both of them groaned in response but turned to go upstairs. Before they even reached the kitchen door, however, the doorbell rang. All eyes flew to the door.

"She's early," Elizabeth said, panic and worry evident in her voice. Neal shrugged.

"Of course, she is," he said, knowing his mother would do anything she could to inconvenience the Burkes when they were stopping her from getting what she wanted.

"Still want us to change?" Neal asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Elizabeth answered quickly. "Go get the door."

With that, Neal went to the front hall, followed by Satchmo and Peter. He reached for the doorknob, and his nerves finally hit him. His mother was on the other side of the door. His _mother_. Whom he hadn't seen in months. She was here to fight for custody that Neal was sure she didn't really want. Knowing Peter was eyeing him curiously after his hesitation, Neal opened the door, revealing his mother on the front step.

She looked better than Neal had ever seen her. Her usually long, messy blond hair rested straight and tidy on her shoulders. She was wearing a dress that, from the looks of it, was far more expensive than she could afford. Her eyes lit up instantly at the sight of her son.

"Neal!" she exclaimed, not missing a beat before she pulled him into a hug.

Neal couldn't help but wince and let out a hurt yelp at the sudden pain in his ribs and side. His mother stepped back at once and held him at arm's length. "Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry. If I had thought your father would do something like that…" Tears already filled her eyes. Neal struggled not to roll his eyes. It had been less than thirty seconds, and she had already made everything about her. "I never would have left." Neal desperately wanted to remind her that she knew exactly what Jacob was capable of doing—and exactly what he had done—and she never had any reservations about leaving him in the past.

"I know, Mom," he managed, trying to sound civil. "It's okay. Why don't you come inside?"

Neal led the way into the front hall where Peter was waiting for them. "You must be Claire," he said pleasantly, extended his hand to Neal's mother. She shook it in a businesslike manner before returning to Neal's side. "I'm Peter."

"Nice to meet you, Peter," Claire responded automatically.

"Elizabeth has breakfast in the dining room," Neal explained, not wanting small talk with Peter to go on any longer than necessary. Peter looked relieved as they made their way into the dining room.

"Claire," Elizabeth greeted, beaming at their guest. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

They exchanged a few more forced pleasantries before sitting down to breakfast. Claire didn't waste any time. She turned to Peter and Elizabeth the instant coffee was poured and pancakes were stacked onto everyone's plates.

"I'd like to pay you back for my son's medical bills," she stated plainly. Neal nearly choked on his bacon, and Peter and Elizabeth looked just as surprised.

"Claire, I can assure you, Neal's medical bills are taken care of," Peter started calmly. "We don't want any compensation. That's not something you need to worry about."

Neal couldn't believe the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Surgery, broken ribs, several overnight stays. The Burkes must have spent tons on his medical bills. They hadn't even adopted him yet, and he was already costing them a fortune.

"Look, I appreciate all you've done for my son," Claire continued. "Lord knows he needed someone to protect him from his father while I was gone. But I'm back now. For good. And I think it's time he comes home with me."

"Mom…" Neal started, anger burning inside him. She made it sound like she had been away on business. Did she forget the fact that she had voluntarily left him with Jacob?

"I think we all know that's not going to happen," Elizabeth said, and Neal was impressed with the resolve in her voice. "We are willing to talk this through with you because, for Neal's sake, we would rather not take this to court. But until Neal tells us it's what he wants, we aren't going to hand him over to you."

Neal's heart pounded at her words. "What he wants": words he had never heard growing up with his mother and father. God bless Elizabeth. He tried to hide his smile, but his eyes met Elizabeth's, and he couldn't help the thankful grin that spread across his face.

"Neal," Claire started, pulling the kid's attention from Elizabeth to her. "I know you think things are good here, but I know I can take care of you now. Please, just come home with me. I've got a house in the suburbs…"

"You do?" Neal questioned skeptically.

"Well, not yet, but as soon as Jason gets his next paycheck…"

"Who's Jason?"

"Oh, Neal. You're going to love him. I've been seeing him for a few months now. He's really smart and sweet. He's a good guy, Neal," she promised. Neal shook his head.

"Look, if you're happy with him, then I guess I can be happy for you. But that's it. I'm not going with you. And I'm sorry, but if you put me on a stand and force me to choose between the Burkes and you, I'm going to choose the Burkes," Neal explained. He knew it was harsh, and he knew that even Elizabeth disapproved of his words, but it needed to be said. She needed to know.

"But, baby," Claire said desperately, shocked by Neal's words. "I'm so sorry. I know I messed up. Just give me another chance."

"You lost your right to a second chance the first time you left me alone with him," Neal snapped, and before Claire could respond, he was on his feet, hurrying out of the dining room and upstairs.

The table remained silent for several moments. Upstairs, Neal's bedroom door slammed shut loudly.

"I think you should leave," Elizabeth suggested. Claire shook her head and got to her feet as well.

"I have to go talk to him," she said, starting for the stairs.

"No," Peter protested. "You have to leave."

Claire turned back to face him and Elizabeth, a mixture of anger and hurt rooted in her expression. She stared back at them, weighing her options, before folding her arms firmly across her chest decisively.

"I'll be in touch."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! As always, let me know what you think!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Well, the semester from hell is over, so here's an update (finally). More to come soon! Hopefully very soon…_

* * *

Neal sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his quilt. His mother's words played over again in his head.

_But I'm back now. For good. And I think it's time he comes home with me. _

Home? Neal didn't even know where that was anymore. Home wasn't off somewhere with his mother and her new boyfriend, that was for sure. And it definitely wasn't back at the old apartment. It felt like he already was home. And his mother was going to drag him away from that?

_I know you think things are good here, but I know I can take care of you now. _

Was he really expected to believe that? That she could give him any semblance of a normal life: food, shelter, stability. More so than the Burkes. After she had spent the past fifteen years abandoning him over and over again. That he highly doubted.

_I'd like to pay you back for my son's medical bills._

He knew his mother couldn't possibly have the kind of money necessary to fulfill such a promise, but that only made him feel worse. He hadn't given even the slightest thought to the Burke's expenses for his medical care. He hadn't even really thanked them. And with the approaching trial of his father and the threat of a custody battle with his mother, legal fees were inevitable. Exactly how much was he going to cost the Burkes?

_I appreciate all you've done for my son. Lord knows he needed someone to protect him from his father. _

Clearly, his mother didn't understand just how insufficient her appreciation was. She couldn't even begin to thank the Burkes for all they had done. Without them, Neal was fairly certain prison would have been in his very near future. They had already done enough. Too much. He could never repay them, and yet, he was asking them to do more. Trials? Custody battles? Certainly school and college was looming on the horizon. The cost alone would be astronomical. Money Neal couldn't even imagine. And for what? To keep a kid off the street for a couple of years?

Neal scoffed and shot up from his bed. His mind racing, he ripped his backpack from its hook and began shoving clean clothes inside.

He knew he needed a plan, some destination in mind, but he didn't have one. He just needed to get out before he caused the Burkes any more trouble. Maybe he could catch up with his mother and agree to go with her. Or track down some of his friends. They'd let him crash on a couch for a few weeks while he got his hands on some money. Maybe he wouldn't leave for good. Maybe he would give it a couple of weeks, let things cool down, and then come back. That was what he did when things got tough with Jacob.

Trying to orchestrate his next moves, Neal went to his desk drawers, yanking them open and pulling out anything he deemed worth hanging onto. He was weighing a stack of pictures in his hand when the door to his room cracked open and Peter poked his head in. Neal hesitated for a moment, but then continued packing like there had been no interruption. If Peter wanted to fight, if he wanted to try to stop him, Neal was just going to have to let him. He had made up his mind. He was leaving. It was for Peter and Elizabeth's own good. Peter wasn't going to stop him. The agent let himself in the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

"Hey, Neal," he said, noting the boy's frantic packing. Neal hardly looked up.

"Mmm?" Neal responded with little interest. Peter folded his arms across his chest and sighed.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Neal answered without missing a beat.

Peter nodded. "Ah," he said matter-of-factly and allowed Neal to continue packing for several silent moments. Neal ignored him while he angrily jammed a few CDs into his bag. "And…" Peter continued. "Where exactly are you going?"

"I don't know," Neal mumbled. "Away from here."

"Right," Peter nodded. Neal dropped his overflowing bag onto the bed and attempted to shove everything safely inside. "And why exactly are you leaving?"

Finally, Neal dropped his packing job and lifted his eyes to meet Peter's. He sighed, abandoning his frustration. "Because it's better for everyone if I just get out of here, Peter. Trust me."

Neal turned his attention back to his bag as he tried, without success, to close the zipper securely. He yanked on the string, but it wouldn't budge.

"Better for everyone, huh?" Peter questioned thoughtfully.

"Yes, Peter," Neal said, giving the zipper another yank while he pushed his belongings into the bag with his free hand. "Better for everyone."

"Oh."

With a frustrated groan, Neal yanked a couple of sweaters out of his bag, threw them to the floor, and yanked at the zipper again. This time, the bag closed. Neal grabbed it by the strap and slung it over his shoulder. He turned to face the door. Peter still stood in front of it, blocking his way.

"So…" Peter continued, not acknowledging the boy's impatient glare. "You'll be better off going back to your old apartment in the Bronx or moving in with your mom and her boyfriend than you would be if you stayed here?"

Neal managed to hold eye contact with Peter, but he could feel his confidence wavering. "No," he answered. "Obviously not, but that's not what I meant. Everyone else will be better off."

"Oh, right." Peter nodded his understanding. Neal took a step forward, hoping he was done, but Peter didn't move for him. "So…." Neal groaned as the agent continued. "Your mother then," he clarified. "She'll be better off now that she's finally found some stability in her life, taking on full responsibility of a son who she's never been able to take care of?"

Neal's eyes fell to the ground. "No," he mumbled. "But I don't need to go with her. I'll crash with a friend for a little and then go off on my own. It's not like I haven't taken care of myself before." He lifted his gaze to meet Peter's. "Peter, I meant…" he trailed off.

"You meant El and me," Peter finished for him. "Of course," he said simply. "We'll be better off when you're gone."

"Yes," Neal confirmed, straightening himself and grabbing at his backpack strap.

"No custody battles to worry about," Peter thought out loud. "No money spent on expensive private schools or college. No being bothered with worrying about where you are or what you're doing."

"Exactly," Neal agreed. He took one step closer to the door, this time thinking for sure Peter would let him go, but again, his escape was blocked.

"Right, so you'll just leave us to deal with social services, who've made it our responsibility to take care of you," Peter listed, "your mother who would probably take us losing you just as well as she took us wanting to adopt you, and, of course, there's that pressing matter of the fact that maybe El and I don't want you to leave. And maybe we like having you around. And maybe we don't want the 15 year old knuckle head we've decided to make a part of our family running off on his own to get himself into what I'm sure would be massive amounts of trouble."

Neal stared back dumbfounded, while Peter kept up his careless expression. "Yeah," Peter continued. "You're right. Your leaving is better off for everyone."

With a sigh, Neal let his backpack slide off his shoulder and onto the floor. He turned to face his room and went over to his bed in silence where he sat down with a huff, his back to Peter.

Why wouldn't Peter understand? He wasn't worth the trouble. The money, the stress, the time.

Moments later, Peter sat down beside him. Neal braced himself for the inevitable oncoming argument.

"You really thought you could leave, and we would just let you go?" Peter asked, the exasperation and, to Neal's surprise, hurt in his voice coming out clear as day.

"I don't know," Neal said with a shrug, keeping his eyes forward. "I guess. Yeah." He shrugged and knotted his hands in his lap nervously.

"Let's say for a minute that you didn't just get out of the hospital and your mother isn't threatening us with a custody battle and neither of us are going to be testifying against your father in court in a couple of weeks. Would you be trying to leave then?"

"No," Neal answered quickly. "If things were simple and easy, then maybe this could work out, but they're not. Nothing about my life is simple, and I'm only realizing now that I'm bringing all of this crap into your lives. I can't ask you to do this."

Peter laughed, causing Neal to face him in surprise. "Neal, we met because you were trying to rob me. The first time we had you over for dinner, you confessed to about a dozen alleged crimes I could have easily arrested you for. Elizabeth and I decided to take you in the night after your father hit you. We finally brought you home only after you were nearly killed by the guy…On what planet would we ever expect this to be simple or easy?"

"I don't now…" Neal said slowly.

"Neal, we knew what we were getting ourselves into. We knew there would be more than a few bumps in the road," Peter said. "We sure as hell aren't going to abandon ship as soon as the going gets tough."

"But, Peter…" Neal started.

"But what?" Peter shrugged. "What could you possibly think you can say that's going to convince me to let you leave?"

Neal stared back at him blankly, not knowing what to say.

"Nothing?"

Neal shook his head. "Peter…" What was he supposed to say? This wasn't how this was supposed to work. He had walked out on Jacob dozens of times. Things would get bad. His father would get pissed at him for costing him too much money or blame him for his mother's absence. He would run before things got too bad, stay with a friend for a few weeks, and then when he was sure everything had blown over, he'd go home and he and his father would act as if nothing had happen.

This had never happened. He'd never been stopped before. Not once had Jacob found him frustrated and panicked in his room en route to run and talked him out of it.

"Neal…" Peter countered.

"What happens if you decide you can't handle this?" Neal asked slowly, memories of his father's breaking points vaguely coming to mind. "What happens if you decide you don't want to deal with my parents or my medical bills or my education or any of my messed up life?"

"That's the thing with family, Neal," Peter said with a laugh. "You don't really get to do that. No matter what baggage they bring to the table, you're kind of stuck with it. You don't just get to decide you don't want to deal with it anymore…"

"Even if it really sucks?" Neal asked, bracing himself, knowing at one point, Peter would have to break. He had to have a point where it was too much. Jacob did. Claire did. Hell, even his friends did.

Again, Peter just laughed. "Even if it really sucks," Peter confirmed. Neal nodded slowly, but Peter could tell he didn't believe him. Not really. And he knew that no matter how many times he drilled the words into the kid's scull, it wasn't going to sink in. Not until Peter proved it, until he showed him that there really wasn't any skeleton in Neal's closet horrible enough that would have Peter making him pack his bags. "Got it?"

"Yeah," Neal answered with an unconvincing nod. "I've got it."

"Good," Peter stood up and gave Neal's shoulder a reassuring slap. "Now why don't you take a nap or something? We can't have you making another escape attempt while you're still incapacitated."

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm not incapacitated, Peter. I feel fine."

"Well, just to be sure," Peter said, ignoring Neal's look of protest. "Take it easy today. For once."

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	12. Chapter 12

The following morning, Neal woke up feeling sore and slightly hazy but, for the most part, better. It was early when he slid out of bed and into a fresh change of clothes.

He could still hear Peter's steady snoring from his and Elizabeth's bedroom as he stalked carefully past their door. Without a sound, he continued to the end of the hall and then hurried down the stairs.

Neal found Peter's wallet right where he always left it: on the hall table under his keys. He stopped in front of the table, stole a quick glance upstairs, and then took the leather in his swift fingers. He hated himself for what he was doing, but he pushed the thoughts of self-hatred aside long enough to pull a sufficient amount of bills from the wallet. He slid the cash into his back pocket and placed the wallet back exactly where he had found it with Peter's keys carefully on top.

Neal turned around to head for the door and jumped in surprise. His heart dropped in a panic at the sight of movement at the bottom of the stairs, but he relaxed almost immediately when he saw who had decided to join him in the foyer.

He hadn't heard the Yellow Labrador follow him downstairs, but sure enough, there was Satchmo standing between Neal and the front door. The dog didn't appear to be in his usual state of excitement at the sight of the teenager. Instead, his head was low, his ears were back, and his long tail was tucked between his legs. He knew something was wrong.

Neal sighed and took a step towards the dog.

"Don't look at me like that," he said in exasperation. Satchmo whimpered softly. "This isn't what it looks like." The dog shifted his paws on the hardwood floor and let out another whine. "If they ask, you didn't see me," Neal said sternly before brushing past the dog and hurrying out the front door.

* * *

One subway ride later, Neal found himself standing outside of his old apartment building. The place still appeared to be in its usual state of decrepitating, but it was somehow easier to walk inside and up the rickety flights of stairs, knowing that this wasn't his home anymore.

When he arrived at the door of his own apartment, he knocked tentatively before pushing it open slowly.

"Hello?" he questioned, taking a step inside the familiar living room.

"Give me a sec!" a voice called from further inside.

Neal went to the kitchen, where he found a couple of spare glasses. He filled them with water from the tap and placed them on the white, linoleum island and took a seat at one of the barstool while he waited.

"You know, when I told you to make yourself at home here, I didn't expect you to take my invitation so literally," Neal said, noting the numerous empty wine bottles littering the kitchen floor and new literary additions scattered around the apartment all announcing the world's biggest conspiracy theories unraveled. He rolled his eyes.

"It's not home without good booze and some light reading," the voice yelled, and Neal laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it while you had the chance," he called back. He spoke lightly but knew he was doing nothing to hide his feelings of guilt. There had to be something else he could do for his friend.

Before he could think too much on the subject, the older kid emerged with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Neal's mouth dropped, and he stared at his friend for a long moment before snapping his jaw closed once again.

"Moz…" he started quietly. "You look…" he trailed off. What was he going to say? Terrible? Awful? Like a complete and total mess? It had been a while since Neal had seen his older friend, a month, maybe two, but he hadn't expected it to have gotten this bad. He looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. His clothes were dirty and practically falling apart at the seams. Even the usual skip in his step was missing. Neal frowned. "What happened?"

Mozzie shrugged the question off in the same way Neal used to shrug off Peter and Elizabeth's questions about his father. "Foster Dad got a job in California. I wasn't exactly invited to tag along."

"So why didn't you go back to the group home?" Neal asked at once. Mozzie slowly made his way over to the island and sat down beside his friend. Both had expected a lighthearted, happy reunion. Not this.

"Neal, please," Mozzie said with a laugh. "I'll be 18 in a few months. Why bother going back if they're just gonna kick me out again once I'm legal?"

"You don't know that'll happen…" Neal said quickly. "You could find a family…"

"So then they'll kick me out once I'm legal," Mozzie shrugged. "Either way, three months from now, I'm on the street. This way, at least I have a head start."

Neal blinked back at him. Would a family really do that? Throw him out on the street on his 18th birthday? Neal hadn't exactly grown up with the most stable parenting situation, but he had not once that that his father would stoop so low as to kick him to the curb once he turned 18.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you the apartment for longer. The new tenants are moving in tomorrow. What else can I do to help?" Neal asked, eager to do anything he could. Remembering his main reason for the trip, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the wad of cash he had grabbed from Peter's wallet. "This was all I could take, but I can try to get more if you need it…"

"You didn't need to do this," Mozzie protested, but he took the money regardless and tucked it safely in his pocket. "I don't want to get you in trouble with the new family."

Neal shook his head. "Don't worry about them," he said, trying not to think about how mad Peter would be if he knew where he was.

"They're cool?" Mozzie asked, trying his hardest to sound casual, but Neal could hear the pang of jealousy in his voice. He bowed his head guiltily.

"Yeah," he said plainly. "They're cool." Pushing the thought of the Burkes out of his mind, Neal met his friend's eyes. "Mozzie, are you sure you have some place to go?"

"Yes, Neal," Mozzie said with mock exasperation. "I'm sure I have some place to go. My cousin's cousin is working on a project upstate. Figured I might as well check it out. See if there's any money in it. He said I could crash with him for as long as I want." Despite his words, Mozzie could see the worry etched into Neal's brow. "Relax, Caffrey. I'll be fine."

"I could come with you…" Neal said automatically.

"I think we both know you're not coming with me," Mozzie said. "But I appreciate the offer." He slid off his chair and landed lightly on the balls of his feet.

"Is there anything else you need?" Neal asked, scrambling out of his chair as well.

Mozzie managed a laugh. "No, Neal. I'm all set. This," he tapped at the money in his pocket, "is more than enough to get me where I need to go. Thank you."

"Yeah," Neal said, pulling out his own wallet. He rummaged frantically through his cards and receipts. Hadn't Elizabeth given him some cash earlier that week? Finally, his fingers found the money, and he tore it from its hiding spot. "Here. Take this too."

"Neal…" Mozzie protested, eyeing the money longingly.

"Please, take it," Neal insisted, forcing the money into his friend's hands. "I don't need it."

Finally, Mozzie nodded appreciatively and jammed the crumpled bills into his pocket. "Thanks," he mumbled. He looked up at his friend and sighed. "I should get going."

"Alright," Neal agreed, trying to sound indifferent.

"I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah. I'll see you around."

"Take care of yourself, kid," Mozzie said seriously. "You've got something good here. Don't screw it up."

Neal nodded. "I won't."

The two shared a quick embrace before Mozzie collected his things and headed for the door.

"Moz," Neal said quietly, and his friend turned around to face him. Neal's face turned a slight shade of red, and his eyes fell to the floor. "Have you heard anything from her?"

* * *

Several minutes later, Neal found himself back at the subway station, Mozzie's words still buzzing in his head. It had been nearly six months since he'd heard from her, and finally he had hope that maybe he'd see her again. Feeling much better than when he'd arrived at the station, Neal took out his subway card from his wallet and slid it carefully along the scanner. He pushed the turnstile forward, but it didn't budge as the error message flashed on the screen in front of him. _Card Empty_.

His mood only worsened slightly. He turned around and made his way over to the card machine, where he pushed his Metro Card through the slot and pulled out his wallet for some cash. His heart sank immediately. Empty. He had given all of his money to Mozzie.

Feeling a sudden panic building in his chest, Neal ripped his card out of the machine and hurried back up the station entrance. He scanned the street, searching for a quick pick, and his panic only worsened. There was a reason why he had chosen midtown Manhattan as his daily pickpocketing location. The people there were rich and oblivious. The people in his old neighborhood were neither of those things. Even if Neal did find someone with a reachable wallet worth picking, there was a fairly good chance that he would get caught. And if he did get caught, Neal realized as he glanced over at a rather menacing looking older teenager, there was an even better chance of him getting his ass kicked.

Neal glanced down at his watch. It was almost seven. Peter and Elizabeth would be awake soon. If he tried to walk home, there was no way he'd make it back in time. He was stuck, and with a feeling of dread in his stomach, Neal pulled out his phone.

He dialed slowly and took his time bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" a groggy voice greeted him on the other line.

"Hey, Peter," Neal said innocently. "Can you come pick me up?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Thanks for reading! Please read important author's note at the end!_

* * *

Peter's car came to a screeching halt where Neal sat on the edge of the curb. Leaving the engine running, he got out of the driver's side, slammed the door shut behind him, and went to the opposite side where Neal was sitting. The teenager scrambled to his feet, taken aback by Peter's sudden entrance.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked. For a brief moment, the worry in Peter's voice made Neal think that maybe he wasn't in too much trouble. But when he nodded his confirmation that he was, in fact, fine, Peter's whole demeanor changed. "Good," he growled as he yanked the passenger door open. "Now, get in."

Neal didn't need telling twice. He grabbed is backpack from the pavement and hurried to the car. The instant all his limbs were safely inside, Peter slammed his door closed. Neal winced. Okay. He was definitely in trouble.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Peter asked before he was even fully inside the car. Neal didn't dare look at him. He kept his eyes fixed outside. He watched as they passed by his old building. A few of his old neighbors stood outside with cigarettes in their mouths and crooked smiles on their faces. "You got out of the hospital a week ago. And you go gallivanting across the city of New York at five o'clock in the morning without telling anybody where you were going or what you were doing or who you were with. Are you out of your mind?"

"Peter," Neal tried to explain calmly. "I was just…"

Peter wouldn't have any of it. "I'm not finished," he snapped. "What if something had happened to you? What if we woke up and realized you were gone? Especially after yesterday." Memories of Neal's attempt at running away the previous afternoon came to both of their minds. "Elizabeth would have been a wreck. I would have had the whole bureau out looking for you, and here you are right back at the place I rescued you from."

"I know. I'm…"

"You don't get to talk yet." Neal closed his mouth quickly and stole a quick glance at Peter. His hands were gripping the steering wheel, and he was driving far too fast for comfort. "I have gotten phone calls in the middle of the night about art heists, bank robberies, a few murders here and there…but this one shocked me the most. Because I honestly can't believe that you would do something so irresponsibly stupid." Peter let out a frustrated sigh and reduced his speed ever so slightly.

Neal looked at him nervously before piping up in a cautious voice. "Can I talk now?"

"Yes," Peter said shortly. "Please. Explain what the hell you were doing out here. I'd love to know."

"I was meeting with a friend," Neal told him calmly. If Peter was going to be angry and out of his wits, that was fine. He had every right to be. But Neal was determined to keep his composure. "He didn't have any place to go, so I told him to stay at my old apartment. He's been here since I moved in with you guys. But the new tenants are moving in tomorrow, so he needed to get out this morning. I just went over to say goodbye."

It was obvious that Peter wanted to stay angry, but his curiosity was beginning to soften him. "What's your friend's name?"

Neal sighed. He knew Moz wouldn't want him telling a fed about him, but he figured he would be safely out of the city, and Peter's jurisdiction, in a few hours, so it didn't much matter. "Mozzie."

"Where are his parents?" Peter questioned, his authority slipping back into place.

"They're both dead," Neal explained. "Died when he was two or three."

"He's in foster care then?"

Neal nodded slowly. What was Peter looking for? If he found out that Mozzie was running away, would he call social services? Would he let them stick him in another group home?

"Yeah, he was in the system. His last family ditched him," Neal said, speaking quickly. "He'll be 18 in another couple of months, and he didn't want to get shipped off to some group home again only to be kicked out by the end of the summer." He sighed. "Not everyone's like you and Elizabeth, Peter. They're not all looking for messed up, criminal, teenagers to adopt."

Peter wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, an insult, or a joke, so he decided to steer away from it. "Ah. So you're friend's a criminal?"

Neal shrugged. "Does that surprise you even a little bit?"

"I guess not."

"You aren't going to call social services or anything, are you?" Neal asked nervously. He knew he was asking for Mozzie's benefit, but a small part of him feared that maybe Peter would call because of him. Maybe his foolish stunt had made him think twice about wanting to adopt the kid.

"No," Peter said decisively. "If he'll be 18 in a couple months anyway, I guess it wouldn't make much of a difference." Neal nodded his appreciation. "Is he going somewhere safe at least?"

"Yeah," Neal answered, surprised at Peter's concern for his friend. "He'll be fine."

"Good," Peter said. He nodded thoughtfully and then let out a long sigh. "You're lucky I picked up the phone and not El." He shook his head, thinking of how panicked his wife would be if she woke up to a phone call from the boy she assumed was fast asleep in the room next door.

"Are you going to tell her?" Neal asked, and for the first time, Peter could see fear in his eyes.

"I don't know yet," Peter said, his brow furrowed in exhaustion and thought. "This was not one of your greatest moments, kid."

"I know," Neal agreed. "I'm sorry. I just…" he trailed off. The thought was nudging its way into the forefront of his conscience. "I've seen what the foster system has done to my friends. Maybe it works for some people, young, cute kids without any baggage. But Peter, if I end up in some group home…"

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Neal, what the hell are you talking about?" Peter asked, the anger gone from his voice, replaced by shock.

"I just mean if things don't work out," Neal said quickly, feeling foolish all of a sudden. "If you guys decide you don't want to…." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "You know what, forget it…" This wasn't worth talking about. If things didn't work out, he wasn't Peter's problem anymore. He would do whatever they needed him to do to get out of their hair. Hadn't they already done enough for him?

"Forget it?" Peter asked. He was suddenly frazzled, frantic almost. Checking to make sure no one was behind him, he turned on his hazard lights and pulled the car over to the side of the road and threw it in park. "Neal, I am going to tell you this once, and then you're never going to forget it." Peter's eyes were locked with Neal's, making it impossible for the teenager to drop his gaze. "This is not a trial period. We do not have you on loan. This is not temporary. There's no 'If things don't work out.' It may still take us a custody battle and a whole lot of paperwork before we're your legal parents, but that doesn't mean you aren't just as much a permanent member of this family as Elizabeth and I are." There was a hint of anger mixed in with Peter's otherwise unwavering voice. "And I am not going to have to tell you that again. Is that clear?"

Neal nodded slowly, blinking back at Peter in surprise. "Crystal," he answered quietly.

With that, Peter gave a satisfied nod and pulled back into traffic. They drove in silence for several moments.

"Peter," Neal's small, cautious voice finally broke the silence. "I stole $200 from your wallet this morning."

Peter tightened his grip on the steering wheel and let out a long, exhausted breath. Briefly, he closed his eyes, silently fuming. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally speaking. "For Mozzie?" he questioning, trying to keep calmly.

"Yeah," Neal admitted. "He needed money for a bus ticket, and his foster parents didn't leave him with anything, and if he tried to get some cash through his…um…usual form of income and got caught, he'd get thrown back in the group home…and…."

"Stop talking," Peter said. "I'm trying to come up with a punishment for this."

Neal couldn't help but laugh at the difficulty this was causing Peter. He'd caught and arrested tons of criminals who'd done a whole lot worse than steal a few bucks from his wallet. And yet, the deep concentration on his face made it clear that coming up with an appropriate punishment for his fifteen year old kid was a whole lot harder than sentencing a conman to a few years behind bars.

"Here's the deal," Peter said finally. "You're going to do any chores around the house for the next month I come up with to pay me back for what you stole. Seeing as your friend owes me as well, I get to meet him. I'd like to have a word with him."

"But, Peter—"

"It can be after his 18th birthday. I don't care when, but I want to meet him. Okay?"

"Yeah," Neal agreed quickly. It was a hell of a lot more fair than any punishment his father would have come up with. He tried to push the thought out of his mind as he imagined the scenario.

"Hey, Peter?" he asked. He needed to ask this last question. He needed to be sure, without a doubt. "What happens after _my_ 18th birthday?"

Peter frowned at the fear that had returned to Neal's voice. The kid had been abandoned and hurt by the two people he was supposed to trust above anyone else too many times to count. He couldn't blame him for the uncertainty he approached nearly everything with. Peter had a feeling that the words "Too good to be true" had been swimming around Neal's brain recently.

"Well, Elizabeth and I would, of course, prefer for you to vote democrat, but I suppose we could live with having a republican in the house…"

"Peter, I'm serious," Neal protested. "You aren't going to kick me to the curb once I'm a legal adult…?"

"No, Neal. We're not," Peter said. He could have made light of the question, added a sarcastic quip or a bad joke, but he needed to Neal to that with absolute certainty.

* * *

_Alright, I'm so done with all of these Peter/Neal dialogue chapters. What about you guys? Let's get some plot in here! I promise I'm on it! _

_IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, guys! Can you just do me a HUGE favor and either shoot me a comment or a PM and let me know if this is your first time reading this story or if you've read it before. For those of you who have read it before, you can probably tell that I've been changing some stuff up. If most of you are reading this for the second time, I'm going to try to change things up some more, so you're not just rereading the same story over again ('cause that's no fun!). Just give me some ideas of who out there's already read it! I'd really appreciate it. Also, let me know if there are any storylines you really want to see added or left out. There are some I've already decided to cut. I think I'm going to combine this story with Crisis Management, so it's one long story instead of two. We'll see. _

_Well, anyway, thanks for reading as always, guys! _


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